Thanks A Lot
by sparkiE1
Summary: After Harry's death, Ron and Hermione run away to live a strange life off of hotels and apartments in London, at the sad age of 16. Songfic to *see title* by 3rd Eye Blind. Dark and dramatic, contains 'drug use', so be forwarned.


*Disclaimer* Song belongs to 3rd Eye Blind, characters belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
*Author's note* BUY THE FIRST 3RD EYE BLIND CD. Once you hear 'Thanks a Lot', you'll understand the story so much more. I just came up with the idea, and, yes, I am a raging R/H shipper. I guess in this story, it was supposed to be H/H, but..., well, it'd ruin the plot if I told you ^_^  
I KNOW butter beer is NOT alchohlic.... Oh, well. I'm the fan fic writer so erm.... if you drink enough... um... yep ^^;;  
  
WARNING: A lot of depression and weirdness ahead. Slight 'drug' use.  
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^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
It's all in your mind,  
  
she said the darkness and the light  
  
the clock, it bleeds for you,  
  
but you never got the time in right  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
My eyes shifted around in the darkness to find Hermione. Her hand was hanging over the side of the bed, her face shadowed by her tossed brown hair. The apartment would make due, for now, but soon we'd have to move on again. An empty butter beer bottle lay on the floor, right under the night stand that the clock hung over. It read 3:39 AM. The drink would work its uses if enough was drank.  
  
We were only sixteen. Sixteen years old. We had run away from Hogwarts, living off the Muggle towns. Particually London. Harry had died in the last of our Fifth Year, and we, like stupid scared teenagers, fled. Nothing mattered anymore to us.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I woke you up and I   
  
slit the throat of your confidence  
  
and we laughed in the night  
  
and I felt all right  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
Wearily, she lifted her head. There were slight bags under her eyes, the pale face was a sad memory of the past. Inside the shimmer of her eyes had drank itself insane, until all it reflected was the dark and the blood.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Her lips parted and she laughed, and sobbed at the same time. Her laugh was maniacal soon, and she choaked on her tears. "You...you always tell me that, Ron."  
  
Something inside me stirred up a feeling of empty happiness. Maybe someday we would be happy again. But for right now all was important was this apartment building in London and that clock.  
  
"Hand me a butter beer," she requested, her voice half groan. She sounded almost drunk, but I passed her the drink from the small Muggle cooler at the foot of my bed, anyway. But then, on nights like these, she always sounded like that.  
  
And before I could stop it, I laughed, too.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
All hands on deck, boys,  
  
'cause this ship was made to sink  
  
your swabber salutes you now,   
  
but I know what he's thinking  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
The story of my life. Maybe it was good that Harry died. If Harry could see us now. Runaways. Mis-fits. Cracked, torn sixteen year-olds living together in a apartment.   
  
Hermione swung the bottle up and drank from it, deep and slow. I smiled. When morning came, she'd sleep most of the day, shunned from her world of shame now. I had always lived that life, but happened to her? To my Hermione?  
  
She used to be the best of our class. An ugly duckling, transformed into a swan, graceful and beautiful. And here she was, not quite a swan, but a bird caught in the middle with peirced wings. An odd, out of her sanity girl. Her best friend was the night and her anger and insanity. We both needed help, but for right now we would wait.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I woke you up and I   
  
slit the throat of your confidence  
  
and we laughed in the night  
  
and I felt all right  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I can still remember what our dreams were. I wanted to be a professional Quidditch player for any available team. I've worshipped the sport since forever, and until now.  
  
Hermione's dream was to become a Hogwarts professor. She had everything for it: the intelligence, the wit, the fame, the flawless attitude.  
  
It was all shattered within a matter of moments. The champange mixed with all the innocence of blood, creating the morbid flood across the floor destroyed it all.   
  
Dear God, why did it happen? It's all Harry's fault. It he were still alive, my Hermione wouldn't have died. But she has. I laughed again. She's dead. More laughter peirced my lips and rang in my mind.  
  
How strange, the way you think everything will turn out perfect, and it changes so quickly.  
  
You killed her, Harry Potter.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Yeah, Harry. You killed your best friend by dying. Why did you have to die? Whywhywhywhywhy?!?!  
  
I got up and lay beside a sobbing Hermione. Her back was cold like a train rail in the rain as I put my hand on it.   
  
"God, god, god. I hate myself, I hate myself..." her voice swam with anguish and crimson, angry tears.  
  
Harry, you left me with this broken peice of mosaic glass. Alone. You left us. Thanks, Harry. It really helps.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
The clothes she wears mis-fit,  
  
and she's nervous when she speaks,  
  
her zombie mom and dad live in  
  
a seperate house of freaks.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
She stood up, resting her head on my chest. Her night-gown was cheap and dirty with butter beer, cigerette and tear stains. It lay loose and huge to her small, slender body.  
  
I kissed the top of her head, her shaggy, messy, long brown hair. Her skin was pale and torn, now. Everything in our lives was like that now, twisted into a bizarre spider's web.  
  
Her parents had become... different, after she completely lost her mind and died. They were like statues when I saw them afterwards, when she packed her stuff and left with me. Her siblings had always been shadows of the perfect, beautiful people gone wrong. She had followed, because The Boy Who Lived died.  
  
After Dad died the summer before my Fifth Year, I had thought all was lost. My brothers all went blank, and Ginny ran away. Poor Mum. I wish I could be there for you, Mum, but I've got to help my Hermione.  
  
"Maybe, Ron," her voice shaky and tiredly suggested into me, "We can leave tonight. I want to leave. Please, let me get my stuff, and go..."  
  
"Okay."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I woke you up and I  
  
slit the throat of your confidence  
  
and we laughed in night  
  
and I felt all right  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
We sat in the taxi, Hermione's head lay resting on the window. It was raining. It pelted the glass black concrete outside like bullets, and I watched them transfixed. A few Muggle pounds were gripped in my fist. Hermione would have to work the money out with the taxi driver. I wasn't sure where we were going to.  
  
"Hermione-"  
  
She cursed. "Ron? What do you want? He's dead, all right? Dead. There's nothing we can do, okay? Hand me a cigerette."  
  
I obeyed slavishly. She lit it, and drew in the smoke. I coughed.  
  
She was so different. The taxi driver asked her to put out the cigerette, and she immediantly asked to let out. He grunted, held out his hand for the money and slid off into the night as we stood outside.  
  
Hermione let her cigerette drop to the ground and stamped it out with a rounded wizard boot's toe. Her long, tattered coat swished as she turned.  
  
The rain had softened, and stopped as Hermione began walking forward to a hotel. I sighed, picked up my suitcase and followed her. Something inside of me made me happy for a minute.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Look at her, Harry. Is this the Hermione you knew? Am I the Ron you knew? I hope not.   
  
You've made us suffer and I want you to, also. Revenge is a very sweet taste to the tongues of wolves, Harry.  
  
And we are those wolves.  
  
Harry, if I could see you now, I'd strangle you with my bare hands. Thanks a lot.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I'm the one for you,  
  
'cause I know all the dirty things you like to do  
  
I'm the fear in your eyes, I'm the fire in your flies...  
  
I'm the sound buzzing around in your head...  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
She still grieves for you, Harry. But I'm here. I haven't died yet, and she's still somewhere in that space far away with you.  
  
And I'm here, aren't I? Why can't she see me? Me? I'm alive. And you're dead. It's all your fault. She could've stayed alive, too, if you hadn't... died.  
  
But, I think somewhere inside of her... she loves me, because I'm her shelter now. And you were always there... now it's my turn.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
Thanks a lot  
  
...Thanks a lot  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
I look over at Hermione from where I lay. She is twisting and turning, restless, in her sleep. Because she sees your face, Harry. Your emerald green eyes, blank and glassy as you lay still. There was screaming everywhere. I don't think I've ever felt all that panic and fear in a room through my entire life. And I don't think I've ever seen someone grieve as much as she did. It was a strange sort of grief. She just ...changed.   
  
It was you. It was always you. It will always be you. Her eyes are dull now. Every time I look into them, I swear I can almost see your dead body staring blankly out at me. Maybe that's what pain looks like. Your dead, lifeless pupils, your dead, lifeless irises. That's why I can't look her in the eyes. I see you, pleading to be let free.  
  
You know what? I'm not going to let you go. Because it's your fault that you are there. If you weren't dead, her eyes wouldn't be painful to look at, she would still be the girl I fell in love with long ago.   
  
She gets up and walks to me. And she hugs me. I don't know why. I want to push her away from her embrace, but I don't. I don't look into her yes, but I'll be here for her.  
  
Unlike you.  
  
Her arms tighten, a sob rising from her broken throat. Maybe I'm just another shoulder to cry on to her, maybe not. It doesn't matter, though.  
  
Nothing matters anymore, leastways. Because the ground must be cold for you, and we're cold, too.  
  
Thanks. And right now, perhaps, lucky for you, I'm not being sarcastic. Everything happens for a reason. She might care for me, as I do her. I'm here for her now.  
  
And you're not.  
  
Thanks a lot.  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
Well.... wasn't that... er.... happy? Yea, I know. Slightly...er... depressing... but um... yeah... I might do a sequel to it. With ANOTHER songfic, also by Third Eye Blind!! ::slaps herself for sounding so preppy:: ('Good For You'.)  
Please be a good reader and leave a review? Constructive critism is allowed, I just know it's out there somewhere....  
~Milificent  
  



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